Okay, this is before HUNGER, and it has nothing to do with my Gone long-fic, Monster! Please read and I hope you all enjoy! :D

Bruised

The night air was dry and cool, not a single breeze passing by. The street lights were on, but horrible orange beams were dimmed due to dust settling in the oversized-bulbs. The plaza was almost completely empty, excluding the eternally slumbering bodies six feet under the cold, cold ground and the one young man standing in front of a single grave.

His shadow loomed over the crosses that seemingly grew out the ground, each representing a soul that left the fishbowl called the FAYZ. The young man's eyes were moist as he stared at the one particular burial place. The cross bore her name, scratched in crude handwriting. He whispered her name, just seeing if it gave him the same feeling as before, "Bette…"

Yes, it did. His palms began to sweat, his heart beat faster; but this time, his heart was not in ecstasy. It hurt. It hurt so badly.

Before the FAYZ, she didn't pay a mind to him. He was nothing to her; below nothing. She was so care-free, so bright. Her eyes always sparkled with happiness and life seemed to radiate from her very skin. He even wondered this now, as he stood by her grave; how would the most fragile and fairest of people be the most inspiring and warm? The young man looked at his hands and thought one thing: cold.

He remembered when she would 'bounce' from place to place. A skip was in her strut, every day of the week. She would hop from class to class, prance from block to block. He even remembered her wearing galoshes when it rained, and how they squeaked when she 'bounced'. Bouncing Bette. It suited her well. But that was not the name cut into the wooden plank.

The young man heaved a long, sad sigh, almost cracking as a sob climbed up his throat; almost. He was strong, stronger than any kid in the FAYZ. He knew it, they knew it. But that was the surface of his rough exterior. He was deeply soft, hurt easily. He was like an apple; tough, rough-hewn outer skin, soft and delicate on the inside. That's what he was; an apple. And he was becoming a very, very bruised apple very, very quickly.

He remembered her when she stuck up for her brother, years ago, before the FAYZ. Her brother was younger than she was, tears streaming down his face and blood down his nose, all while his lower lip quivering. The young man remembered how shrill her voice was and how much anger it possessed.

"Don't you DARE hit my brother!" She had screamed at the bully. "He gave you the stupid candy bar, so why didn't you just leave him alone?!"

The bully had rolled his eyes, his lips in an ever-present scowl. His heart was about to beat out of his chest. Bette kicked dirt at him, the only thing she could actually do, being a head shorter and forty pounds lighter. The bully's eyes widened and his nostrils flared as he bore his teeth. The redhead didn't let up. "You stupid meanie!" She accused. "You butt-head!"

He felt his heart sink, but he didn't show it. The bully pushed her, watching her fall to the ground in a cloud of dust. She coughed loudly, her little brother running to her side and hiding behind her and crying. But Bette didn't cry; she frowned at the bully as he walked away, his heart sinking lower and lower. He was bruised.

The young man's hand shook slightly, the night chill finally getting to his face. Or maybe, it was the tears streaming down his cheeks? Either way, he watched his hands shiver as he leaned down to the earth, placing three little dandelions. Weeds, he knew, but the only thing closest to flowers he could find. They were white and fluffy, some of the seeds fluttering away as his large hands brushed against them one last time.

Then he stood there again, his shoulders trembling as the tears finally came in buckets. He was a silent crier, something no one knew. His sobs were never heard by the people living doors down when he would finally break down in the middle of the night; all they heard was the shattering of glass when he would break mirrors with his shaking fists. Even then, no one came in or knocked on the door to see what was wrong. They didn't care. No one cared.

The only feelings they felt toward him was hate and disgust.

Minutes seemed to go by slowly, time seeming to freeze as he remained in front of the grave. But soon, with wet, red eyes, he realized that the sun would be coming up soon. Kids would wake, and they'd see him there. They'd see him for what he really is; bruised. He wouldn't let that happen.

The sound of footsteps rung out in the plaza, but he didn't turn around. "Hey…" A voice called. Howard. "Orc? Orc man?"

The young man in front of the grave stiffened at the sound of his name. "What?" Orc grunted; his voice was raspy.

"Hey, man, I found some of that Advil stuff in the cabinet. You don't have to keep looking…" Howard said. "It's getting cold, man… I'm heading in."

There was a pause before Orc said, "Yeah… I'll be in…"

He didn't need to turn around to know that Howard nodded; the sound of Howard's retreating footsteps told Orc that Howard was leaving. When the footsteps disappeared, the monster of a boy shuffled in his place, suddenly feeling self-conscious. "Bette..?" He whispered in a low voice. "I gotta go."

There was no answer.

He remembered the feeling of hair in his clenched fingers; her hair. The feeling of skin against his fists; her skin. The feeling of blood on his hands; her blood. The sight of a cross over a freshly dug grave; her cross, her grave.

He was bruised. "I'm sorry." Were the only words that came out of his chapped lips.

And so he turned, and left.

Miss Rouge Apple~ This was a sad one, but it's my favorite pairing! I HAD to write a one-shot for this. Check my profile for more of my favorite pairings in Gone, too! Please review, if you really liked this! Thank you!!

Toodle-oo until next time!!